Down in the Deep
by Teyerin
Summary: McGee's vacation is anything but relaxing.
1. Chapter 1

Down in the Deep

Own nothing of Bellesario's. A simple challenge written purely for enjoyment. Thank you, Moonlight1234 for the dare; thank you Minarrett for proofing this!

Timothy Magee took in the cleared off desk one last time. He wasn't one to avoid vacations however this would be the longest one for him yet, and he hadn't told anyone, except Gibbs, where he was going. He looked up at the sound of soft footfalls to his left.

"Afraid things will not be in the same pristine order, Timothy," Ducky Mallard asked, hands in his pockets like his young friend.

Tim smiled. Ducky was one of the main reasons why he enjoyed coming to work each day. If he were to name a 'favorite uncle,' it would be the good doctor. "Not exactly. I'm sure Tony will find a way to prank me upon return. I'm just hoping I'm not forgetting anything, that's all."

Ducky chuckled. "My good boy, the key thing to remember is – 'have a good time.' You never did say where you were going this time around. Passport required?"

Tim shook his head, then looked around to be sure that no one else was in earshot. "Not unless I decide to go to Vancouver. Just some sightseeing research in Seattle. Nothing serious."

"As holidays should be. I hope you packed your galoshes."

"I did, along with the rest of the 'required attire' for that region. Maybe I'll be lucky and it'll be sunny." He turned the lamp off at his desk, and then fell into step with Ducky as they made their way to the elevators.

"You will send me a postcard or two," Ducky asked as they made their way to their respective cars.

"Of course. If it wasn't for the time difference, I'd call in, too."

Ducky's eyes lit up. "Splendid idea. Don't fret about the hour; I'll probably be up regardless."

"Oh, no, Ducky-." He blushed, knowing the concern wasn't of overly protective parent but of caring friend.

"I'm serious," the Scotsman said, slapping Tim on the back. "We'll call it 'Friday phone day.' And I promise not to share any details of work, nor tell your adventures to the others. You're researching another book, I suppose? Don't tell me, not yet anyway. I can give you a lift to the airport tomorrow."

Tim waited until Ducky was secure in his car. "Thanks, Ducky, but Gibbs insisted on delivering me." He paused before joking, "Should I worry?"

Ducky's laughter rose with the revving of the engine before he drove off.

* * *

"Ducky gave you 'instructions,' I suppose," Gibbs said as he grabbed Tim's bag from the trunk of the car. The young man nodded. "Well, that goes double from me. I expect to meet you here, refreshed, relaxed and ready to go upon return. If Tony or Ziva try to call you, ignore them."

"Yes, Boss," he said.

"You're off duty; no 'boss.' Just be safe, all right, Tim?" Gibbs removed a small journal and a silver twist-barrel pen from his inside coat pocket and handed it over. "That should get you by if the power on your laptop goes, or you do decide on some proper exploration."

The young man smiled. "Thanks, Boss." He stammered. "I mean-." Tim wasn't about to break Rule Number Six now. "Thanks."

Gibbs smiled. "Just because D.B. Cooper vanished out that way, maybe thanks to Ted Bundy, doesn't mean you get to. Got it?"

Tim nodded, feeling the weight of the routine, the regulation backpack and everything else slip away. What could go wrong?


	2. Chapter 2

Explosions and Exposures

Armed with a lighter than usual backpack filled with a few souvenirs and a few other various items, just in case, Tim took in the sights and sounds of the Seattle Waterfront. Like the smell and taste of the waters of the Sound wafting about him, Tim saw an assortment of characters to populate his next story – one that did _not_ feature the team.

He stood in line of the Great Ferris Wheel and listened to the street musicians, their assorted soundtracks accompanying the street artists – legitimate and con – peddle their wares. By the time he climbed into the glass compartment, the cloudy skies had cleared.

Sitting sideways on the seat, Tim could take in both the water and the city skyline with each revelation. It amazed him, the assortment of buildings, as he caught a glimpse of the Space Needle in the distance. Looking back and down towards the wharf, he saw the rider in the car behind him just sitting there, staring. Tim shook the uneasiness off as he continued taking as many photos as he could.

At ride's end, Timothy made his way to the aquarium. A group of school children rushed passed him and he smiled. The joys of youthful exploration always seemed invigorating to him. There was something about the laughter that was uplifting, the 'ah-ha' moments of discovering something amazing that was awakening. He unintentionally kept pace with the group of kids, even hearing their 'knock-knock' jokes as they, and he, took to the touching pond.

That was one of the things Tim hoped he could bring into the young boy's life that he agreed to be a Big Brother to. He didn't know who that might be, but in the back of Tim's mind, he set the bar high for himself – as strong as Gibbs, as patient as Ducky for starters.

Tim found himself in awe of the dome room, watching the sharks go by with a school of assorted fish. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the familiar stranger looking anywhere, everywhere but where logic would have suggested, sunglasses on, hands in the pockets of his trench coat. Tim turned to see to it that the stranger didn't approach any of the other children.

"Excuse me," a parent said, cutting him off with a stroller, "This is yours."

Tim accepted the disposable camera with confusion with one hand while holding out his own camera in the other. "Thanks, but-."

"Someone saw you drop it," the parent said, then left, pushing the stroller ahead. He pocketed the camera, cursing himself for losing sight of the stranger. He knew he wasn't on duty, but he couldn't ignore that gut feeling that something was wrong. It was all Tim could do to resume his walk through the aquarium.

After placing his bag of souvenirs in his backpack, he made his way to the Pike Place Market and found a restaurant that gave him a view of the water.

The view from the patio was breathtaking as Tim watched the sun disappear into the water. It wasn't that sunsets weren't beautiful back home; he just seldom took the time to enjoy them. For a moment, he frowned, wishing to see Kate Todd's rendition of the remarkable scene. Of course, she'd probably slap him for sullying a moment like this, but he couldn't help it, as an image of her changed into that of Jim Nelson, his best friend.

"Knock it off," he muttered to himself, finishing a bottle of one of the local brews. He turned his attention to one of the boats in the distance. It might have been a bit bigger than one of the ones Gibbs built in his basement, but it was hard to say. The only thing Tim could make out with the telephoto lens of his camera was the design of the sail. Not easily identifiable, but something even Ziva might like.

Just as Tim pressed the shutter button, the boat exploded.


	3. Chapter 3

Accidents

He, along with many other diners in the area, made calls to 9-1-1. He didn't recall seeing anyone dive off the side or anything, but there was always hope someone survived.

The aid units long gone – with no one living, Tim made his way back to the hotel, having dropped off the disposable camera for developing at a nearby drug store. During the ride up the elevator, he made it a point to focus on the excitement of the children, the skyline from the ride, anything, everything but the boat exploding.

Tossing everything into the chair in the corner, except for the small journal and pen he tucked into his inside jacket pocket, Tim debated whether or not to call Ducky. It wasn't Friday, but he could use a friend's voice to distract him from…

Tim had seen a lot of bodies over the years, had been shot at, assaulted and dodged his fair share of bombs. But he couldn't figure out what it was about today's events that bothered him so. Maybe it was seeing the stranger twice in one day. Or was it more than that and he had failed to realize it?

He put those thoughts on hold, flipping through the music options on the radio. Perhaps some writing or character sketches would help him.

A couple of hours later, he had several pages typed, an assortment of folks to populate his next novel, a definite departure from the "Deep Six" series. Staring at the screen without focusing on the words, Tim was aware that he had returned to the stranger, in one way or another, a half dozen times.

"There's Jefferson's antagonist," he said, content with the name he chose that was based on Gibbs, albeit not as obvious as the last one. The man had no name, but Tim decided that could wait until morning, after he looked through the photos on the other camera. True, there was no reason to assume the camera would be his, but that plot devise seemed to serve a better purpose that way.

With a few puzzle pieces in place, Tim called it a night; his final thoughts drifting towards the next day's adventures.

* * *

As the clipper made its northbound journey, Tim kept staring at the place where last night's explosion had happened, hands resting on his camera as he reminded himself he was _not_ in charge of taking crime scene photos.

The photos from the disposable camera he collected that morning were inside the journal inside his pocket, along with the passport, unseen yet safe. He couldn't bring himself to study them yet. It wasn't as though one thing tied to another. Maybe accidents, especially boating ones, happened like that frequently. Maybe Tim didn't want to face whatever other fears he knew awaited him.

What did it matter? He was on his way to Victoria, British Columbia for a couple of days and a night. If all went well, he could call Ducky during high tea, call it a shared drink between friends.

The wind blew against the young man's face as he thought of Kate again. Why didn't he accept her invitations earlier when he had the chance? Of course, it wouldn't have been anything like a deep, romantic relationship, but a strong sibling bond. Then again, Tim preferred to keep his heart close to his chest, figuratively. Dating? That was something Tim did sparingly, cautiously. Given that he felt betrayed by his sister too many times and felt the need to protect his mother all too often, maybe that was why he found solace in Penelope's company. Maybe that was who he thought of every time he was with Kate.

Tim shook his head, lifting the camera towards some birds overhead. It was by chance he captured a magnificent shot of a whale.

Smiling, he tempted fate once more, deciding these would be simple gifts to share with his friends.

As he stepped off the boat and made his way towards the Butchart Gardens, he dialed Ducky's number. Tim turned to get a quick photo of the vessel, only to see the stranger from before.

"Hey, Ducky," Tim began before going through the gardens, "just calling to say everything's well and to see if you want to share 'afternoon tea' in about…" He glanced at his watch. "Let's say an h-?" His phone battery died.

Tim decided to forego the gardens, instead making way to the Chateau Victoria Hotel, where he had made his reservations.

Tim McGee never checked in.


	4. Chapter 4

Timing

Leroy Jethro Gibbs paced the length of the conference room table, trying to ignore his gut, unable to do so. "And you haven't spoken to him," he asked again.

Ducky Mallard sighed. "For the last time, no. Jethro, by the time Mr. Palmer and I finished, it was too late. I only have his message and-."

"And he hasn't called back?" It was only the other side of the states. Heck, McGee had survived international missions. So why would a 'simple vacation' worry him now?

Ducky shook his head. "Given his invitation, I expected him to call from, oh, I'd say maybe The Fairmont Empress. Then again, there are at least half a dozen hotels there with afternoon tea. Goodness knows how many in the city of coffee. Timothy didn't tell me when he go exploring in the northern country."

Gibbs had to admit he was surprised Tim would return to Canada, given how the last trips there had gone. Then again, his youngest agent was getting braver, bolder, more confident… "If you hear from him, tell him to stay put. Do you hear me?"

Ducky stood between his friend and the door. "I hear you, Jethro. I'd rather that Timothy be safe and sound and simply taking in the sights. What if you're rushing into nothing?"

Gibbs moved Ducky out of the way. "That would be something."

* * *

Gibbs gained entry to Tim's hotel room in Seattle – better to start at the beginning. The room was in shambles, with most personal items town. He surveyed the scene before calling down to the front desk; wondering how anyone could not have reported such a thing. Once he finished calling the LEO's, Gibbs sifted through the mess to secure what didn't need to be seen.

Ticket stubs from previous venues, restaurant napkins with sketches and words on them – well, what had survived the stains at least.

He didn't want to call the others in; knew they'd be efficient, affected. He called a favor in to Hetty Lange, and then set off to retrace McGee's travels. Given the state of the room, and how it contrasted to the young man's nature, Gibbs hoped to find the young man in time.

It was a woodcarver on the waterfront that provided the most useful information.

"He was being followed," the toothless teen said. "F- first, the Ferris wheel, th- then aquarium. No! Before that! Yeah, he was followed b- before that!"

"Can you describe him for me," Gibbs asked, taking out notebook and pen.

The woodcarver shook his head, then hollered out to a sketch artist. "Yo! You- you remember that odd couple? From before before?"

The older woman fell onto the step beside her friend. "There been lots of those."

Gibbs showed a photo of McGee to them. "Who's the guy who followed him?"

She shook her head. "Wasn't a fella. Stupid Stella – that's what we call her with her empty stroller that got no kids in it." She drew a picture then handed it to Gibbs. "That's her – when she's not on her meds."

Gibbs thanked them for their help then gave them some money.

"Nah, we don't-." the woodcarver said. Gibbs gestured to a small key holder shaped like a crab. "Oh, just like what your friend picked! Hope you find him."

"I hope so, too," Gibbs said, wondering how far behind he was.

* * *

"McGee had a reservation in Victoria yesterday," Hetty said. "Didn't check in though. He wasn't on his scheduled return trip on the Clipper, either."

Leroy didn't want to hear that. He gave his colleague what information he had so far before asking about the sketch.

"Stella Milleroni – Lucero 'Lucky's' little sister. The FBI, NYPD and half a dozen other law enforcement agencies have not been able to keep those two behind bars for long."

"Stella known for murder?"

"It's possible. She is as clinically insane as her brother was ruthless."

Gibbs turned towards the hotel in question. "_Was_," he repeated.

"Leroy, he was murdered. Still an open case in New York, I believe. I doubt Tim got mixed up in-.

"Put doubts aside for a moment. What counts is finding Tim. Alive."


	5. Chapter 5

Headaches

Tim looked up and saw his boss above him. "You're really here," he asked. The young man imagined a slap upside the back of the head. "Of course you're not. If you were, I would be home."

He continued writing in the journal Gibbs had given him, even if he couldn't see in the darkness. He didn't know how much time had passed, only that he had not been given food or water. IT was all he could do to stay awake – each word written like a defiant shove against whoever held him captive.

A creaking door sounded to his right. Tim put away the journal before he held the pen like a knife. If it bought him a little bit of time, it would be worth it. Then again, his previous attempts only resulted in painful punishment and broken fingers. Luckily, it was his right hand and not his left.

The metallic stench of blood mixed with gasoline overwhelmed him. If lack of supplements didn't do him in, the fumes would. Blinking several times, Tim could make out a darker blur. Aiming for where he thought the neck might be, he jabbed with what force he had.

Surprisingly, he made contact, the narrow silver pen sinking into flesh before the squishy sound reached Tim's ears. He felt around the body until his hand found keys – to what, he didn't care. No gun, so at least he wouldn't be shot in the back.

Crawling, Tim felt more blood – thicker, stickier than what he endured in his cell. Blinking as he steadied himself, he hoped to find an exit before his captors found him.

His left hand fell down against a door handle that didn't give. There was no breeze to speak of, either. Defeated, Tim slumped against the door, then lost consciousness.

* * *

Hetty gave a list of all the properties the former suitor of Stella Milleroni had. The one that was the most secluded was the first place to search, she told Leroy. In the meantime, her team investigated and found no jurisdiction for the boat explosion from the week before – the only connection being, again, Stella.

While she knew Leroy wouldn't take her team's help, or worry his own, she kept both groups busy building a case against Milleroni – just because.

Gun drawn, Gibbs approached the only standing structure on the heavily wooded property. He didn't care about motive for whoever dared take Tim. Cold justice would work just fine. Kicking at the door, he was met with resistance.

* * *

"Boss, is that really you?" This time Tim was slapped upside the head, gently. "I thought I was one of the three little pigs, greeted by the Big Bad Wolf."

"Nope. It was just me. The scumbag who took you – you don't have to worry about him anymore, Tim."

He attempted to shake his head, but the pain, and Gibbs' hand, stopped him. "The man I saw…he wasn't…" Tim's throat dried. "He…" Looking up, he saw the same expression worn when he was told of Kate's, of Jim's death.

"Did you know him, Tim?"

"No. Someone did, though."

Gibbs put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You got caught in the middle. You're safe now."

Tim gave a lopsided grin. "Sane might not work. I had a weird dream that Tony was chained at the bottom of a boat, looking like a merman."

Gibbs gave a rare grin. "Better not tell him that, or you'll be down in the deep with him in terms of payback time."

"I suppose neither case is ours, is it, Boss? The explosion or the murder?"

Rather than answer, he ordered Tim to rest. Tomorrow would be a new day, where vacation time would be closely supervised under Gibbs' watch. Whatever happened here would not be on the record – period.


End file.
